


Tutorial

by MacBeth



Series: Multi-fandom meme [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV)
Genre: F/M, Poetry prompt, a rich fantasy life is vital to survival, insufficiently graphic sex, multi-fandom meme, my math classes were never like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacBeth/pseuds/MacBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac has no idea why the students he tutors sometimes have trouble concentrating.  Because one plus one equals . . . um.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tutorial

Malia hunched her shoulders and scowled at the cryptic scribbles in the textbook. “It ain’t – _isn’t_ – makin’ sense, MacGyver.”

He set aside the book he’d been flipping through, unfolded his long legs from the chair, came around the table and leaned over to trace a long finger down the page.

“Only two sets can be joined in a Boolean operation, but you can chain sets together. That’s where the fun begins.” Mac grinned. “Just pretend you’re arguing with a little kid. That always works for me.”

“How come I gotta do this myself? Don’t we got computers that can do it for us?”

“You gotta be able to understand what the computer’s doing. Otherwise, you won’t be able to figure it out when the computer starts screwin’ up.”

Malia snorted. “Hey, you lookin’ at the queen of screw-ups here. If that computer can screw up too, ain’t no way I gonna fix it.”

Mac looked at her seriously, his dark eyes intense. “Don’t put yourself down like that. You got yourself off the streets and into this program, right? You got away from that slime who wanted you to hook for him, and you kept away from the drugs all through it. You’ve still got all your brain cells. You just gotta fill them up with something better than self-doubt.”

Malia met his eyes and tried to pretend she was listening. She was good at that. She was actually very good at math, too, except when MacGyver was tutoring her. Except when he bent over her shoulder and she felt the trusting warmth of the solid mass of his body, right there within arm’s reach. Except when he looked at her like that, with those dark eyes that made her dissolve inside. Except when he stood so close that she could smell him – a comforting, reassuring smell, a touch of honest sweat with no bitter chemical tang underneath, a hint of pine that made her think about long walks in the woods, even though she’d never taken that kind of walk.

What would it be like, to be alone with him, miles and miles from everyone, with nothing to think about except him? It should be out in the woods, where the pine smell would be the real thing, right off the trees, not from aftershave or a cheap cardboard air freshener. Yes. Let it be high up in the mountains, deep in the forest – she’d never been in a forest, but she’d seen movies. Let it be wild and dangerous, stormy and fierce. There would be a storm, wind and rain and lightning, and MacGyver’s powerful arms around her, keeping her safe, warm, dry.

Not dry for long. She could feel dampness in her palms as her thoughts flowed far away, dampness growing deep inside. Mac would hold her close, and she’d reach up to his face, bury her fingers in that long, silky, flyaway hair, pull his head down so that his mouth met hers, let him know how important he was, pour herself into him so he knew he was the centre of the world. Her hands would wander down his back and around to his chest, and she’d yank on his silly loud flowered shirt and it would tear away in her hands and become bright silk ribbons whipped away in the wind, and she’d finally have the bare broad muscles of his chest under her palms, she’d run her hands along his body and thrill at the power and strength of him, and push him gently so he’d know it was time.

They’d be on the ground then – were pine needles soft or scratchy? Who cares, it was her world, they’d be soft as velvet. She’d pull her clothes off, and MacGyver would look up at her from where he waited and smile, and she’d see it in his eyes and know that it was true, that she had passed through all the horrors and filth with her soul still pure and bright and untouched and good enough and worthy enough even for him. Why not? She’d fumble at his waistband and maybe blush a little, because it would be so _important_ , and he’d help her ease his jeans down and away, and there he’d be, naked and proud and glorious. And he’d want her, oh, he’d want her, but he would never force her or push. He’d let her take her time.

She would worship him with her hands and her mouth, touch and caress every inch of him, marvel at the miracle of his body. There were stories that he’d been in some rough places, that he had gunshot scars on him, that he knew more about shit than he let on, that he’d be dangerous if he had a mind to it. Malia only wanted to love him. She was done with dangerous men and bad boys. A good man didn’t have to be boring. MacGyver could never be boring.

She’d wrap a hand around him – she’d learned some tricks, yeah, that kind of shit had kept her alive, but it was all right to know stuff like that, it was all right if you could make your bad knowledge into something good. She’d make it real good. Mac’s eyes would widen and darken even more, the deep deep brown velvet would go almost black, and he’d shudder and moan and gasp and see stars and novas, and she’d see all that in his face and know that it was good, that he was good, that everything could turn out all right in spite of everything.

And it wouldn’t be over yet, not even close. She’d press herself against him and mold herself to him and they’d fit together all warm and strong and the feel of him would make all the memories of hurt and shame and desperate misery melt away like they’d never been. She’d rock herself against him, and it would be all bright fire and warm suns and stars inside her, and Mac would reach up and cup her breasts with those beautiful hands of his, trail those amazing long clever fingers over her skin so that she’d gasp at his touch, pull her close, thread his fingers into her hair, run his mouth over her body, touch her and kiss her and make her holy and pure and glorious. She’d be so fired up she’d come just at his touch, and then she’d rock against him some more and they’d both come, she’d come again with him, and when it was all over they’d laugh and cuddle and hold each other close.

The pine trees would keep the rain off them, and the sun would come out and warm them, and after they’d rested they’d do it all over again, and again, and again.

“Malia?”

“Huh?”

MacGyver was looking at her, a faint frown creasing between his eyes. “You okay? You looked like you were miles away.”

Malia actually felt her cheeks getting warm. Shit, if he had _any_ idea . . . “Sorry . . . ” She ducked her head.

A gentle hand settled on her shoulder, and she snuck a glance up, feeling even warmer. Mac looked concerned. “Do you need me to cut things short today? I don’t have to stay the whole hour, you know. I can leave if you like.”

“ **No**!!” She swallowed. “No, I’m fine. Really.” She picked up her pencil, surprised that her fingers weren’t shaking. “I’m okay. Can we get back to them Boolean sets now?”

 

_~ fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a multi-fandom meme, to a random poetry prompt:  
>  _Scent of pine trees in the rain / Eyes that love you, arms that hold_ (Sara Teasdale)


End file.
